Sunrise on the Reaping (The Hunger Games, #0.5)

by Suzanne Collins

They will not use my tears for their entertainment.

this is a family show.”

L O L

He sighs when he mentions the tools that were abolished and incapacitated in the past, ones deemed fated to destroy humanity because of their ability to replicate any scenario using any person.

L O L. Suzanne got jokes.

“Sure. I’ll be your sister.”

SOBBING

I ditch my pack in a patch of katniss

I can barely hear her whisper. “One of us has to win this thing.”

“Make sure they don’t use our blood to paint their posters?” “Exactly. We’ll paint our own posters. And I know just where we can get the paint.”

They will never let me be a victor,

Good-bye, Maysilee Donner, who I loathed, then grudgingly respected, then loved. Not as a sweetheart or even a friend. A sister, I’d said.

These Games will have no victor.

“Thanks, Effie.” “But they really are for a greater good. The Hunger Games.” And now she’s lost me.

“Enjoy your homecoming.”

I'm scared

Hurting her that way feels worse than anything I did in the arena.

I drain the bottles of sleep syrup to escape reality, only to feed her gumdrops in my dreams.

Burdock comes, though, appearing out of the mist. His leather jacket fastened

forget. Trying to forget is my full-time job now.

She’s the one who finally kept that sun from rising.

The snow may fall, but the sun also rises.